


Deliverance

by hannahbeanies



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst and Feels, Blood Magic, Dark, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fenrill, Fenris Has Issues, Grief/Mourning, Hate to Love, Hurts So Good, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Possession, Psychological Trauma, Rare Pairings, Slow Burn, The Fade, did I mention the angst?, extra grumpy Fenris, so many feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-20 19:37:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4799753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahbeanies/pseuds/hannahbeanies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just when the city was rebuilding after the disaster in the Gallows, tragedy strikes the Kirkwall crew again – this time from across the Waking Sea. When the war with Corypheus takes one of their own, Fenris is left broken and looking for absolution at the bottom of a bottle. No one left cares enough to help him through the grief and guilt that’s nearly consuming, except for the blood mage he despises most. Multi-Chaptered. Eventual Fenrill (because I can :D)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I am still writing _Conventus_ , but I had to get this story out there. It was floating around in my head and driving me bonkers. This is a Fenrill - but Fenris is super caustic and Merrill is...well, Merrill. The romance is slow to get here. Will eventually be ~40,000 words.

**_Truth_ _is inseparable from the illusory belief that from the figures of the unreal one day, in spite of all, real deliverance will come._ **

**_~Theodor Adorno_ **

_Chapter One_  
  
She made her way down the pristine walkways of Hightown, stamping her bare feet along the freshly tiled cobblestone. The evening sun shined off of it from fresh rainfall, the cold dampness wrinkling her toes and the muggy air forcing mucus to occupy her lungs. This part of town, in contrast to her neighborhood, hardly bore a single scar revealing what happened before. It had been years since the rebellion began here. It felt like an age since the city was nearly brought to its knees to hold the fight between the mages and templars.  There were more casualties than just the infrastructure. Buildings could be rebuilt and roads could be repaired, but there was not anything to repair the broken peace of mind of the citizens of Kirkwall.

Their old crew had been scattered about, some leaving Kirkwall altogether. Isabella boarded a ship after the final events in the Gallows. No one knows where she ended up, or even if she is still alive. Aveline and Sebastian were still in the city, but both were busy with their own affairs, each working on separate projects to revitalize the city. Despite the defeat of Corypheus, Varric had not yet returned from the Inquisition. And Anders…Anders was gone. Even though Fenris hated her, and she herself wasn’t especially fond of the grumpy warrior, she was the only one left that could do this. He hadn’t been seen in ages, according to her letter from Varric, who begged her to check on him. She felt she had an obligation, despite the fact that the two of them were never friends – only allies.

The old manor looked especially broken down now. The lights that once illuminated his front door had long extinguished. The wood of the door looked cracked and faded from years of neglect. The flag that hung from the column was shredded by winds and rain and the stone walls could use more than a bit of a washing. It looked more like it was occupied by disgruntled spirits rather actual living people. But perhaps that was all Fenris did here – haunt about, not really _live._

She knocked on the door exactly three times and waited. He didn’t come to the door, but she knew he had to be home. With a slight squeak, the nob turned easily in her hand. A stench of spoiled food and mold filled her nose as she walked inside. And she thought her hovel was bad enough, but this place had her beat by a long shot. The faded carpet was wet and mildewed from the rain coming through the hole in the center of the room. Debris and dust covered all surfaces. There was _evidence_ of vermin along the floor against the wall paneling. She swore she saw a rat carcass as well. Even the rats couldn’t live in this place. She dragged her eyes to the second floor and saw a soft glow escaping the room she knew to be Fenris’s. She tread gently across the floor and up the stairs, careful not to make too much noise, even though she wasn’t sure why. He should have already heard a knock. He had to know she was there.

He was sitting on the floor, in front of the lit fireplace, a light blanket wrapped around him as if it could be a shield from the world’s horrors. He almost reminded her of a child. He looked so small. It was such a contrast to his normal intimidating presence. A half empty bottle was resting on his lap as he casually nursed it.

“I know you’re here.” He said without turning to look at her. His voice was scratchy, most likely due to dehydration from consuming nothing but alcohol as well as disuse. She crossed her arms over her chest.

“You can’t do this to yourself, Fenris.”

He huffed. “Don’t pretend you care.”

But she did care, a lot, actually. That may have been a part of her own issues. She tended to care so much it hurt.  
  
“I am not pretending. We will all miss him. I know you loved him…”

“You don’t know _anything_ , witch.”

Maybe he was right. Maybe she didn’t know anything. But she did know that Hawke and Fenris loved each other, despite their often rocky relationship.

“He wouldn’t want this for you. I do know that much.”

Fenris let out a breathless laugh. Not a real one, but a tired one of dismissal.  

She approached him slowly, taking only a few careful steps, but allowing enough time between each so that he could object. Surprisingly, he didn’t. He didn’t say anything or even look at her. She sat down beside him in front of the fire and saw that he was shirtless under the throw and his hands, bare without their usual gauntlets, still gripping the bottle tight. His eyes continued to stare into the fire, glazed over as if in a trance. It was hard telling how long had been in this exact position. His face was hollow, cheeks sunken in, dark shadows crept over his already dark skin. His hair was parted and sectioned by oily clumps that fell haphazardly into his eyes. A smell of body odor radiated around him, punctuated by the warmth of the fire. He was sweating like he was feverish.

“How long has it been since you have eaten?”

He didn’t answer her. Just took another swig from the bottle. She sighed deeply. “What happened wasn’t your fault.”

Suddenly he stood and threw the bottle against the wall. He stared down at her with cold eyes full of hatred. “Why are you here? To grant me absolution from my sins?”

“I came to check on you. No one has seen you since…since…”

_Creators! I can’t even get myself to say it._

“There was a reason for that. I don’t want to be around anyone and least of all a maleficar. Now, get out.”

“I can’t do that, Fenris. Not when you are in this state.” She stood firmly, stance wider. If he was so keen on killing himself, it would not be on her watch.

“I do not need your help, mage. I just need to be left _alone_.”

She gulped. “I am not going anywhere. You…you will just have to make me.” It was a risk, but she was willing to take it.

He radiated from rage and began to resemble the Fenris she knew so well. But then he dropped to his knees on the floor, coughing. He vomited up the alcohol he had just consumed, but only that. He was left dry heaving on the floor with nothing else in his stomach to purge.

She winced and began to panic. Oh, how could he do this to himself?

“You are killing yourself.”

“That is really the point.”

“Do you think Hawke would want this?”

“It doesn’t matter what Hawke would want. HAWKE IS DEAD, you stupid chit!”

_You stubborn, prickly, horrid, ungrateful elvhen'alas!_

Despite these thoughts and an overwhelming urgency to leave while she still had all of her limbs, she rushed over to him to help steady him as he got up off the floor. He put a surprising amount of his weight on her, leaning against her support despite his objections. Fenris almost always disliked physical touch, but in this case, he was compliant, which only served to concern her more.  She wrapped an arm around his bare torso, so slight and thin from lack of nourishment, and was surprised by a trickle of magic at the contact. It seemed her own magic was interacting with his lyrium brands. She ignored it, filed it away for later, and walked him over the crumpled bed.

“There you are. Rest now.” She laid his body as gently as she could onto the bed. He merely grunted in reply. Within a moment, he was asleep.

_Well, at least he can’t drink himself to death now._

She really wished Isabella was still here. The pirate queen would care enough to help Fenris. But as it was, Merrill was the only soul left in this city who did.

She walked out of the room and collapsed against the wall on the landing. She couldn’t leave him, not now, but she couldn’t stay either. Resting her head against the chipped paneling, she looked up at the twilight sky through the hole in the ceiling, pondering on exactly what muck she had gotten herself into this time.

_Mythal preserve me._

* * *

_It was so cold, wherever he was now. Cold and dark and humid. He could barely see the ground for the mist that surrounded him, his skin breaking out into goose bumps from the cool, damp air. He looked down at his arms, which were aglow from his lyrium brands. There must be magic nearby to trigger it this strongly. He reached around for his blade, but he was not carrying it. For the first time since he could remember, he was really frightened._

_“Hawke? Garrett?” He called out. His own voice echoing back at him was the only answer._

_“Hawke! Where are you?”_

_He started to walk forward, his feet catching on the uneven ground. It was also cold and damp, slippery and he had to concentrate to keep his footing. That seemed to be the theme of this place._

_“Hawke, what bloody mess have you gotten us into this time?” He huffed out in frustration, mostly to himself. The light was slightly brighter from the glow of the eerie water that cut through the dark terrain. He noticed his cheeks were wet. Curious._

_He continued forward until he finally heard a noise around him. The scenery had not changed, but he could have sworn he heard a voice in the darkness. This place…this time…it all seemed familiar now. He wasn’t supposed to be here. No, he was supposed to be here…but he was never here._

_He heard the voice again. The chilling sound made him stop dead in his tracks._

_“Do you think it mattered, Hawke? Do you think anything you ever did mattered? You couldn’t even save your city, how could you expect to strike down a god? Fenris is going to die, just like your family, and everyone you ever cared about.”_

_Fenris panicked, circling around and looking to the dark sky, but he couldn’t see anything. “What? Hawke! No! Hawke I am here!”_

_He started to run then but in no particular direction as he didn’t know where the voice was coming from._

_“Garrett? Where are you? Please answer me!”_

_Then he heard Hawke’s voice. It was soft, defeated, accepting of his fate._

_“Tell…tell Fenris…I am sorry.”_

_Then nothing._

_Fenris dropped to his knees and cried out in pain. He realized what this meant. Hawke was gone. He wasn’t there to save him. Hawke had died alone, in the cursed Fade, at the hands of a demon. It was all an illusion – Fenris never had a chance to save him._

_The ground disappeared beneath him. He was falling._

He awoke with a start, jumping forward in his bed. The room was dark and vacant, the embers from the fireplace had died long ago. He was alone.

He laid his head back down on the pillow. He wished so much that he could just be swallowed by the earth, but it never complied. His body was damp in a cold sweat, and his face was wet with his tears – the tears he would only release in his nightmares.

He must have had that dream a hundred times by now, and each time, when it started, he felt like he had a chance to save Hawke again. But it was too late, Hawke was dead and gone. And it was Fenris’s fault.

How could he let Hawke convince him to stay in this horrid city without him? Why didn’t he insist on coming with him to this damned Inquisition? Hawke knew the risk – he knew he could die, but he downplayed it for Fenris. Because he didn’t want Fenris to die. Well, what about what Fenris wanted?

_Damn you, Hawke, I wouldn’t have let you die for them – for anyone!_

He clutched his chest in pain and curled his body around his hand. Hawke was selfless and stupid with a hero complex. Where Fenris would go with self-preservation, Hawke would lay his life on the line.  But that was just who he was and Fenris knew that. And he loved him for it because Hawke always had the courage to be what Fenris never could. He brought out the best of him, and now that he was gone…

With that thought, Fenris drifted back into an agitated, but also dreamless, sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Fenarel laid on his cot, gazing above to the darkened sky. He noticed he could not see the stars as clearly being this close to the city. The lights dampened out the view. Sundermount would be an ideal place to stargaze if it were not for that. Being able to actually see the light of the stars is a rather important requirement for stargazing, however.

The elf rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. Tomorrow he would go search for her. However, being a Dalish elf, he had no idea where to begin once he actually got into the city.  He assumed the same presence that had been guiding him so far would continue now that he was so close to his destination. Not for the first time, Fenarel began to suspect the voice in his head. Something was just… _off_ about it.

There it was again – the subtle tug in his head.

_No dear Fenarel. You can trust the voice. It only wants to help you avenge Marethari…_

He remembered Marethari. She was like a mother to him, just as she was to the rest of the clan. He remembered her fondly for her kind voice, her humble presence, but her unforgiving magical power.

He had heard the stories of what happened that year she married Sarel. She hardly had time to warm the marriage bed. At least a dozen were murdered that winter when they were ambushed by a group of Avvar, including Sarel and the Keeper. As First, she was suddenly alone and thrown into a tough position of responsibility that she was not ready for. She went into the forest alone and sought out the Witch of the Wilds for help. Some say she found her...and that she had to pay a debt to her as a result. No matter who caused it, the Avvar were no longer a threat.

Fenarel saw their keeper suffer. He grew up with Theron Mahariel, who later became the Hero of Ferelden. He was there the year that Merrill was adopted into the clan as Marethari’s apprentice as a very young child. You could not tell then what kind of monster they let in their midst.  

Some say that was the grave decision to bring Merrill in that sealed the fate of the Sabrae clan. While Theron brought them honor, Merrill only brought pain. It followed her like the darkest shadows, shrouding everyone around her in darkness.

Marethari’s final heartbreak was the loss of her First. Merrill had decided that reclaiming lost history was more important than caring for your family that is here now. She wanted to toy with demons, blood magic. Like the Blight, her curiosity tainted the clan, leaving behind nothing but barren wastes. The clan was all but gone, dissipated after Marethari’s death.

_Fenarel…she must be eliminated. You are the only one who can see through her._

Yes. Tomorrow he will find her.

* * *

She sat by the window in the foyer, picking at her nails nervously, staring off into the distance as the sun rose over Kirkwall. It was dawn and she was still at the mansion. She had not returned to the alienage that night, but instead remained firmly seated on this exact spot on the ground. Fenris was worse off than she could have imagined. He was utterly shattered. Nothing but a broken shell of what he was. The brightness that radiated off of him, even if it was anger most of the time, had dulled. He had given up. He didn’t even care enough to be pissed off anymore.

But she had to do something. As to what she could do to bring him some relief was a question. She was never very good at comforting people. Fenris presented an even greater challenge.

How do you comfort a person who lost the one they loved the most in the world? It was impossible.

She had to concentrate on what she _could_ do. Fenris had lost a lot of weight. He was so light she was sure she could almost carry him. She supposed that was what scared her the most – the fact that he was hardly Fenris anymore. The Fenris she knew, anyway.

She had heard him stir in his bed during the night, but didn't dare go back in. She was here if anything happened...

That was enough brooding. She couldn't bring Hawke back, that was for certain, but she could definitely feed Fenris.

She stood with renewed determination and set off in search of the kitchens.  

* * *

 

By the time Fenris rose again, morning light was already shining through the hole in his roof. That light also brought attention to the pounding headache and vague nausea. He rolled over and reached for his bottle of wine. He poured what was left down his throat and grimaced. He supposed he would have to leave the bed if he was to get more. He couldn’t just summon it.

Slowly, he climbed out of bed. His stomach rolled and he could taste the acid on his tongue. He shuffled out of the room, nearly tripped down the stairs. By the time he reached the kitchen to get to the cellar door, he was dizzy again. As he leaned against a wall, he heard noises in the kitchen. It didn’t sound like rats. Then he heard the humming.

_Fuck._

"What are you doing here, witch? I thought I told you to go home." He asked a little louder than he should have. His headache flared up in warning.

The mage jumped a little, letting out a surprise yelp. She had her staff lighting up in her hand before she realized who was talking to her.

At least she hadn’t lost her reflexes. She let out a breath, hand on her chest as she exhaled.

"I told you, Fenris. I can't leave you alone the way you are."

“I do not need you to babysit me like a child.”

She leaned her staff against a wooden table and crossed her arms. “I know you don’t _need_ me to, but I want to.”

He balled up his fist, voice growing louder, headache almost forgotten. “Does it look like I care what you want, witch. I _want you_ away from me.”

Merrill let out a deep sigh. “Must we go through this again?” She draped her arms around her stomach, showing her obvious insecurity. “I am sorry, Fenris, but you are just going to have to get used to me. I am not leaving. And right now, in the state that you are in, you cannot make me.”

“How dare –“

“I know…I know. I am sorry. But if there is anything I learned in this life, it’s that sometimes the people who care about us know what is better for us…and I can’t let you kill yourself, Fenris. I…I refuse.”

She must be out of her mind. But she was right – Fenris was in no condition to fight a powerful mage. She could easily overtake him now. He narrowed his eyes in her direction, but sat down on the chair next to the doorway. She may be here, but he wasn’t going to let her have run of the place.

“Fine.” Without conscious thought, he rubbed his temples. He had sat down too quickly. Now he was dizzy and his vision unclear. She walked closer to him by a fraction, narrowing her eyes in concern.

“When was the last time you had anything other than wine?”

He couldn’t answer her. He was afraid if he opened his mouth, he might vomit right then. He slowly shook his head. For once, the bloody harpy seemed to understand.

“Well…I did manage to find something. Some dried porridge…so I assume it would still be ok. It would be easy on your stomach. You already look like you are going to make a mess any moment.” She handed him a bowl of steaming cereal. His stomach rolled, but he picked up the spoon and shoved a little in his mouth, swallowing before he could gag. He was on his second bite when he looked at her, staring down at him, towel in her hand. She twisted it around nervously.

“I know…I am not the cleanest elf. You have been to my house, you have seen it…but I did try to tidy up where I could in here. I didn’t really know where to put your things, if they are even your things - ”

He swallowed. His head pounded and her blubbering only served to make the pain worse. He held up a hand to stop her.

“Witch…you are not a servant and I am _certainly_ not your master. I don’t give a damn what you don’t clean. I will eat…whatever monstrosity this is that you call food. But I will do so _in peace_.”

She nodded. “Well, that is certainly fair. However, I do not think my cooking is that bad…is it? Oh!” She covered her mouth with both hands, eye widening. “I am doing it again! I am sorry. I will shut up.”

“Please do.”

“When you are finished with that, I think we should head out to the market to get some more food. Your shelves are completely barren.”

He had opened his mouth to respond with a very distinctive ‘I will not be going anywhere with you’, but the next statement caught him off guard.

“And I also think you may need to tidy yourself up a bit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, I am not trying to be rude, Fenris, so please don’t take it that way...but…you smell less than delightful.”

He raised an eyebrow in her direction. “Are you telling me I stink?”

“Yes.”

Perhaps he was still drunk, or maybe even completely insane, but he couldn’t decide whether to tear her into pieces or laugh hysterically.

So he just stared. He lowered his spoon into his barely touched bowl, and stood up to go take a long bath. He did it so easily that he vaguely wondered if perhaps she had him under the influence of blood magic. Maybe if he took long enough, she would get tired of waiting and would just go away, but he highly doubted it. But what could he live for if he couldn’t hope?

* * *

 

This city was most unpleasant.

The dust caught in his lungs and throat, coating them and leaving him parched. It was difficult to breathe. He produced dry coughs, not that it did any good. The smell of the place was almost unbearable. It was some strange mix of food, dirt, metal, and body odor. And it was loud. Somewhere behind him a child screamed for his mother. A couple in front of him was yelling nonsense to each other. There was much anger and unhappiness in this place.

There wasn’t a shem in sight. He suspected that he found the alienage. But he didn’t stop here. _Something_ kept pulling him.

He walked up a couple set of stairs. He began to notice, that while the surrounding hadn’t changed, the people did – more shems and children of the Stone.  Fenarel scratched at his elbows nervously. He wanted to leave, but the compulsion to stay and search for Merrill was more powerful. His feet kept moving, one foot in front of the other, bare toes tossing more dust into the air to make its way to his lungs. He coughed. This continued for hours.

He saw a variety of stands, but one stood out to him in particular, like a beacon in the storm of dirty city dwellers. Nothing too special about the stand – the woman running it was a shem. She was standing casually with a pleasant, thoughtful expression on her face. Her eyes lit up at a sight behind him and she smiled more brightly.

He turned to see what had caught her attention and he realized why the stand stood out so much to him. She was here and she was coming this way.

She looked different. Obviously, she had aged a little, most likely a result of stress rather than the passage of time. Her face just looked more tired and drawn. Her hair was longer and she still had braids, a similar style to what she always had.

He stood still, suddenly at a loss of what he should do. Before he could react, she had already passed him without notice. He watched her approach the cart, almost skipping. She was practically dragging another elf behind her. He had dark skin, white hair, and some of the most unique vallaslin he had ever seen. The man did not seem to be happy to be there.

He watched their interaction, standing back and simply blending in with the crowd in plain sight. Merrill grabbed a few items, most he didn’t actually see. She spent more time socializing with the shopkeeper than anything else. The man stood behind her, arms crossed in impatience.

She paid for her goods and her companion rolled his eyes. She smiled brightly at him.

They began to walk away and he decided to follow them.

Fenarel was surprised when he found himself following them into what seemed to be a much more affluent part of the city. The streets were smooth. The air was considerably cleaner. No one was shouting, save for a few of the shopkeepers advertising their wares. And it was not nearly as crowded. Fenarel had to fall further behind them or risk being spotted.

Eventually, they made a sharp turn into a dead end square. The streets were almost barren, so he opted to stay behind a corner of one of the buildings. He saw how extravagant most of the buildings looked – clean and well cared for.

The two elves made their way to a door. This building looked less impressive than the others. Perhaps it was even more aged. He watched as the man carefully picked the lock of the door. Merrill followed him inside, and the man looked carefully around the square before shutting the door behind her.

Fenarel was confused by what he just observed. Why would they buy food and bring it to a house they had to break into? Who was the man with her? Did she live there? Did they both?

He would have to keep following her.


End file.
